Despite the fact that 57 million Americans (36 percent of the US workforce) are freelancing and contributing $1.4 trillion to the economy, the life of a freelancer is still an enigma to many. Parents, friends, and clients treat you like a full-time employee when you’re juggling seven other accounts.
It’s easy to see why. Freelancing takes a range of different forms across a wide variety of industries. There’s no one way to classify it, so there’s no one way to understand it.
But I’m not here for generalizations and excuses. I’m here on a personal mission to set the record straight once and for all. I’m here to prove that what people think freelancers do all day is rosy fiction, with just one exception: We do, in fact, wear pajamas all day.
What people think freelancing looks like
6:00 a.m. Hit my alarm. Just kidding! I don’t set an alarm because I’m a freelancer.
10:37 a.m. Roll out of bed into my second, comfier bed and browse the internet for an hour or three.
1:37 p.m. Meet my jobless friends for brunch like it’s a damn Sunday out here (it’s actually Monday out here).
1:40 p.m. Listen to my friends tell me I’m “so lucky” I get to make my own schedule. Brush it off, but know they’re right because I work for 20 minutes each day and spend the rest of it brunching and browsing the Internet.
1:41 p.m. Tell my friends I’m the lucky one—lucky this economy is so horrible I have unemployed friends to do brunch with on Mondays.
3:00 p.m. Decompress from brunch. Do cold yoga.
4:23 p.m. Find a new show on Netflix. Watch the first five episodes real quick. Descend down a Wikipedia rabbit hole about whatever true crime story was optioned for this show.
6:30 p.m. Answer an email. Whew.
6:31 p.m. Finish my Netflix murder show. Double check my locks.
8:30 p.m. Talk to my mom and confirm her suspicions that I don’t have a real job but am doing fine. She’s happy to hear about the locks.
8:42 p.m. Start and complete three new Netflix series.
2:06 a.m. Magically do enough work in 20 minutes to pay for my apartment, bills, groceries, cold yoga classes, and daily brunches. All while the rest of the world is sleeping!
2:26 a.m. Contribute $1.4 trillion to the economy.
What freelancing actually looks like
6:00 a.m. Hit my alarm. Just kidding! I’ve yet to go to bed. I’m on deadline. Time is a flat circle.
8:00 a.m. Turn in my piece. Think about making breakfast but the emails start flooding in.
8:05 a.m. Adjust my pre-planned schedule of writing all day to incorporate all the new edits, pitches, and outlines that clients have just requested.
8:10 a.m. Prepare to interview a source at 9:00 a.m. because they’re on the other side of the country.
8:35 a.m. Email pops up. Another client wants some quick edits. Send those in before my call.
9:00 a.m. Conduct interview.
9:35 a.m. Transcribe 30-minute interview in a mere two hours. Cringe at all the different ways I say “Awesome,” “Got it,” and “Let’s see, what else?”
11:35 a.m. Think about making breakfast but then remember to check my income-tracking spreadsheet. Realize I’m a bit short this month and find some new clients to pitch.
12:35 p.m. Get ready to write!
12:36 p.m. Email pops up. One of the new clients I sought out wants to chat today. They’re ready to get rolling.
12:37 p.m. Oh god, it’s a video call.
12:38 p.m. Send pitches to current clients. Update income-tracking spreadsheet to account for pitch acceptance because I’m nothing if not optimistic.
2:00 p.m. Prepare for video interview. Look at myself in the mirror. Oh.
2:01 p.m. Brush my hair, wash my face, and put on the standard freelancer’s uniform: a button-down shirt with pajama pants.
2:30 p.m. Conduct interview. Update today’s schedule to include the pitches they want.
3:30 p.m. Get ready to write!
3:31 p.m. Friends text, asking if I want to do dinner later. Realize I haven’t had breakfast yet and am three hours behind schedule.
3:32 p.m. Shove some toast into my face.
3:45 p.m. Get ready to write!
4:00 p.m. And I actually do! I’m feeling it. This is what it’s all about. I’m a modern-day Virginia Woolf, only instead of penning modernist masterpieces about love and loss, I’m typing blog posts about Facebook ad targeting. This is the life.
6:00 p.m. Relative emails me about a “real” job I might be interested in.
6:05 p.m. Catch up on new emails. Adjust my to-do list for tomorrow. I’m a day behind where I want to be, but at least I’m making my own schedule.
7:30 p.m. Look at “TGIF” memes on Instagram and think about all the work I’m going to do this weekend.
8:30 p.m. Write some more.
11:00 p.m. Eat some leftovers while watching the first episode of the next murder show on Netflix.
12:30 a.m. He’s totally guilty. I make my feelings known on Twitter.
2:26 a.m. Contribute $1.4 trillion to the economy.
Despite the fact that 57 million Americans (36 percent of the US workforce) are freelancing and contributing $1.4 trillion to the economy, the life of a freelancer is still an enigma to many. Parents, friends, and clients treat you like a full-time employee when you’re juggling seven other accounts.
It’s easy to see why. Freelancing takes a range of different forms across a wide variety of industries. There’s no one way to classify it, so there’s no one way to understand it.
But I’m not here for generalizations and excuses. I’m here on a personal mission to set the record straight once and for all. I’m here to prove that what people think freelancers do all day is rosy fiction, with just one exception: We do, in fact, wear pajamas all day.
What people think freelancing looks like
6:00 a.m. Hit my alarm. Just kidding! I don’t set an alarm because I’m a freelancer.
10:37 a.m. Roll out of bed into my second, comfier bed and browse the internet for an hour or three.
1:37 p.m. Meet my jobless friends for brunch like it’s a damn Sunday out here (it’s actually Monday out here).
1:40 p.m. Listen to my friends tell me I’m “so lucky” I get to make my own schedule. Brush it off, but know they’re right because I work for 20 minutes each day and spend the rest of it brunching and browsing the Internet.
1:41 p.m. Tell my friends I’m the lucky one—lucky this economy is so horrible I have unemployed friends to do brunch with on Mondays.
3:00 p.m. Decompress from brunch. Do cold yoga.
4:23 p.m. Find a new show on Netflix. Watch the first five episodes real quick. Descend down a Wikipedia rabbit hole about whatever true crime story was optioned for this show.
6:30 p.m. Answer an email. Whew.
6:31 p.m. Finish my Netflix murder show. Double check my locks.
8:30 p.m. Talk to my mom and confirm her suspicions that I don’t have a real job but am doing fine. She’s happy to hear about the locks.
8:42 p.m. Start and complete three new Netflix series.
2:06 a.m. Magically do enough work in 20 minutes to pay for my apartment, bills, groceries, cold yoga classes, and daily brunches. All while the rest of the world is sleeping!
2:26 a.m. Contribute $1.4 trillion to the economy.
What freelancing actually looks like
6:00 a.m. Hit my alarm. Just kidding! I’ve yet to go to bed. I’m on deadline. Time is a flat circle.
8:00 a.m. Turn in my piece. Think about making breakfast but the emails start flooding in.
8:05 a.m. Adjust my pre-planned schedule of writing all day to incorporate all the new edits, pitches, and outlines that clients have just requested.
8:10 a.m. Prepare to interview a source at 9:00 a.m. because they’re on the other side of the country.
8:35 a.m. Email pops up. Another client wants some quick edits. Send those in before my call.
9:00 a.m. Conduct interview.
9:35 a.m. Transcribe 30-minute interview in a mere two hours. Cringe at all the different ways I say “Awesome,” “Got it,” and “Let’s see, what else?”
11:35 a.m. Think about making breakfast but then remember to check my income-tracking spreadsheet. Realize I’m a bit short this month and find some new clients to pitch.
12:35 p.m. Get ready to write!
12:36 p.m. Email pops up. One of the new clients I sought out wants to chat today. They’re ready to get rolling.
12:37 p.m. Oh god, it’s a video call.
12:38 p.m. Send pitches to current clients. Update income-tracking spreadsheet to account for pitch acceptance because I’m nothing if not optimistic.
2:00 p.m. Prepare for video interview. Look at myself in the mirror. Oh.
2:01 p.m. Brush my hair, wash my face, and put on the standard freelancer’s uniform: a button-down shirt with pajama pants.
2:30 p.m. Conduct interview. Update today’s schedule to include the pitches they want.
3:30 p.m. Get ready to write!
3:31 p.m. Friends text, asking if I want to do dinner later. Realize I haven’t had breakfast yet and am three hours behind schedule.
3:32 p.m. Shove some toast into my face.
3:45 p.m. Get ready to write!
4:00 p.m. And I actually do! I’m feeling it. This is what it’s all about. I’m a modern-day Virginia Woolf, only instead of penning modernist masterpieces about love and loss, I’m typing blog posts about Facebook ad targeting. This is the life.
6:00 p.m. Relative emails me about a “real” job I might be interested in.
6:05 p.m. Catch up on new emails. Adjust my to-do list for tomorrow. I’m a day behind where I want to be, but at least I’m making my own schedule.
7:30 p.m. Look at “TGIF” memes on Instagram and think about all the work I’m going to do this weekend.
8:30 p.m. Write some more.
11:00 p.m. Eat some leftovers while watching the first episode of the next murder show on Netflix.
12:30 a.m. He’s totally guilty. I make my feelings known on Twitter.
2:26 a.m. Contribute $1.4 trillion to the economy.